


minute by minute (don't you forget it)

by johnnlaurenss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Official Feuilly Fanclub Business, basically just another excuse to shower feu in love and adoration, i have a Brand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnlaurenss/pseuds/johnnlaurenss
Summary: His fingers brush the metal spine of a notebook—he grabs at it, interest piqued. It’s a decent notebook, spiral bound with a green cover, and there are words written in Sharpie scratched across the front.Official Feuilly Fan Club™ MinutesBahorel is so dead.*In which Feuilly finds out about his fan club, but more important information presents itself soon after.





	minute by minute (don't you forget it)

**Author's Note:**

> my only excuse for this is that i didn't want to write the other fic i'm SUPPOSED to be working on

Bahorel isn’t there when Feuilly gets home, which is strange.

 

They’ve lived together for almost two years now, been best friends for a million years longer. Feuilly knows Bahorel’s schedule inside and out by this point—and Thursday’s are his days off.

 

Feuilly drops his backpack onto the counter and grabs a juice box out of the fridge. The house is strangely quiet; Bahorel usually spends Thursday’s cleaning which means music is blaring from his crappy record player. Still, Feuilly can’t complain about the quietness, especially when he’s got a lot of studying to do.

 

He grabs his backpack and hauls it to the couch, dropping it unceremoniously. There’s a granola bar somewhere in there calling his name, and he doesn’t even care that half of his friends would tease him for his juice box and granola diet. Feuilly collapses dramatically onto the cushions—

 

And promptly sits on top of something uncomfortable.

 

Their couch is old. It’s old and probably really gross, but it’s Bahorel’s favorite couch even if it’s a relic from his childhood and they’re too broke to buy a new one. Feuilly is used to sitting down on the couch and finding all kinds of interesting paraphernalia, like chip bags or books or empty water bottles.

 

For as much as Bahorel is a neat freak, his couch has never been anything but disgusting.

 

Feuilly shifts forward until he can reach in between the cushions and figure out what he’s sitting on. His fingers brush the metal spine of a notebook—he grabs at it, interest piqued. It’s a decent notebook, spiral bound with a green cover, and there are words written in Sharpie scratched across the front.

 

_Official Feuilly Fan Club™ Minutes_

 

Feuilly flushes scarlet. He can feel his ears burning but he can’t take his eyes off of the notebook, as embarrassing as it is. He’s gonna kill his friends. Specifically Bahorel, because Feuilly is about a thousand percent certain that he’s behind this. God, this is so embarrassing—were they having meetings in his _apartment_? How was Feuilly unaware of this?

 

Christ. Who was _involved_?

 

His curiosity gets the best of him. Feuilly flips open the notebook, hoping it will clue him in to any information about why the thing even exists.

 

The first page is dated to two months back. Blush creeps up Feuilly’s neck again. This has been going on for a _while_. He has got to kill Bahorel. 

 

_11:00 Meeting scheduled to start; in attendance is Bahorel, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre. Jehan is late_

_11:01 Courfeyrac begins teasing Bahorel about calling this meeting_

_11:05 Enjolras names us the Official Feuilly Fan Club™_

_11:06 Jehan shows up—with cupcakes_

 

Feuilly honestly might be dying. This is incredibly embarrassing. Though, now he knows with certainty that it was Bahorel behind this. Maybe it’s a good thing his best friend isn’t home. The rest of the first page continues on, most of the minutes written at the expense of teasing the group, some serious. At the bottom, the handwriting switches to someone new and it reads _Courfeyrac banned from writing minutes. Meeting adjourned._

 

Well. On one hand, it explains why Courfeyrac had been so pouty about minutes during the ABC meeting a few weeks back. But the minutes don’t explain why this apparent meeting was being held, or even why they continued meeting, and Feuilly honestly is far too curious for his own good so he can’t be blamed for continually flipping through the pages.

 

The minutes vary between being jokes or being serious, even as Combeferre obviously took over and banned both Courfeyrac and Jehan from being in charge. Some make Feuilly smile—“ _1:03 Jehan mentions bringing R into the meetings and Enjolras gazes longingly into the distance for ten minutes straight_ ”—but there are certain lines that make no sense.

 

_12:46 Jehan gives Bahorel sample sonnets_

 

_10:10 Courfeyrac suggests amping up Bahorel’s wardrobe “to woo like the peacocks do”_

_10:11 Both Bahorel and Enjolras throw pillows at Courfeyrac’s head_

 

_2:30 Combeferre suggests honesty—receives glares from all other members_

 

And most confusing of all:

 

_3:45 Bahorel confesses_

 

“Confesses what?” Feuilly wonders aloud, fingers tracing the word. It’s on a page all by itself, with no other writing or details scribbled along the page. The page before is dated yesterday, and stops in the middle of a sentence. The entire thing is so strange; Feuilly thinks, if this is a prank, he really doesn’t understand the punchline. There’s nothing else in the pages after the last line, no other details or pictures or graphs or ideas or anything. A half filled notebook full of minutes that may be fake but still somehow manage to make Feuilly’s heart stutter in his chest. A foolish part of him wonders if—if.

 

Keys jangle in the door, Feuilly’s telltale sign that Bahorel is finally home from whatever had been keeping him out of the house. For once, Bahorel doesn’t enter the house with a string of swear words or loud crashing sounds. The door swings open quietly and he slips inside. It takes him a minute to notice Feuilly on the couch, but he freezes as he puts his keys on the hook and raises his gaze to see Feuilly on the couch.

 

“Hey,” he says, sounding mostly normal. He even smiles. Feuilly wonders why it’s so easy for him to notice that this isn’t a normal Bahorel smile. He wonders why he knows everything here is to know about Bahorel and then some.

 

But mostly, he wonders why the sadness lingering in the corners of Bahorel’s expression seems to pearce him so strongly.

 

He realizes a second too late that he’s just sitting there staring at Bahorel with a dumbstruck look on his face. Bahorel raises an eyebrow, but then his eyes drop and he catches sight of the notebook in Feuilly’s hands—his face pales.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers.

 

Feuilly sets the notebook down. He stares at it, for just a second, before looking back up at Bahorel. He looks shaky and pale and terrified, horribly vulnerable yet... beautiful.

 

Feuilly’s breath catches in his throat.

 

“Oh,” he says, full of wonderment.

 

“Feuilly,” Bahorel says quickly, panicked. “Feuilly. Listen. That’s—okay, it is what it looks like but. _Shit_. Christ. How did you even find that? _Fuck_. God, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it’s all wrong.”

 

Feuilly stands up. He can’t believe it took him this long to realize it. Countless hours spent with Bahorel, sitting on the couch yelling at their shitty reality shows or buying each other coffee or laying together after nightmares; all the times people assumed they were a couple and they laughed but never corrected it because it wasn’t ever _weird_ , how Feuilly didn’t even hesitate when Bahorel suggested they move in together—

 

All the lingering gazes, the late nights where Feuilly couldn’t place the feeling that swelled in his chest and made him feel warm, every single time that Feuilly came home after a long day and felt infinitely better the second Bahorel smiled at him.

 

It all comes crashing down on him, wave after wave of undeniable, plausible proof that he’s been in love with this man for almost his entire life.

 

“Bahorel,” Feuilly says, and there must be something in the way he says it because Bahorel’s mouth immediately snaps shut. His eyes are wide. Feuilly feels like both of their hearts are exposed now, but Feuilly knows how far down the line his heart lies and he has no clue where Bahorel’s—

 

Oh. 

 

_Oh_.

 

Maybe he does.

 

“Eleven oh one, Courfeyrac teases Bahorel about calling this meeting,” Feuilly says slowly. He can see Bahorel swallow thickly.

 

“Feuilly,” Bahorel warns.

 

“Ten thirty, Bahorel suggests a perfect date,” continues Feuilly. He gains confidence, to the point he steps closer to Bahorel. “Twelve forty six, Jehan gives Bahorel sample sonnets. One twenty, Bahorel lists all of Feuilly’s favorite movies. Bahorel is voted President of the Feuilly Fan Club. Bahorel quickly ends meeting when Feuilly comes home early. Bahorel accidentally writes his own sonnet.”

 

There’s only inches between them now. Feuilly reaches up and places his hand on Bahorel’s chest; the heartbeat underneath his t-shirt is frantic, nervous, beautiful. Feuilly tilts his head up—Bahorel has never looked more lovely than he does in this moment.

 

“What are you doing?” Bahorel whispers.

 

“Three forty one,” says Feuilly. “Bahorel kisses Feuilly.”

 

That’s all it takes. Bahorel closes the distance between them and kisses Feuilly like nothing else in the world matters. His lips are soft and perfect, and Feuilly realizes now he’s spent forever imagining what this would be like but it doesn’t even come close. Under his hand, Bahorel’s heart rate slows, steadily, until it beats in sync with Feuilly’s. Bahorel’s hands grip at Feuilly’s hips, and he pulls away just to be chased by Feuilly for kiss after kiss.

 

When they finally pull apart, Bahorel is breathless and beaming, and he rests his forehead against Feuilly’s.

 

“I’m in love with you,” he says honestly, openly. Feuilly doesn’t even try to stop the grin that splits his face.

 

“I should hope so, I can’t have just anyone be the president of my fan club,” teases Feuilly. He barely even gets a chance to laugh as Bahorel rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss him once again.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me [here](https://tonytangredis.tumblr.com/).
> 
> comment, kudos, bookmark below!


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